Why, hello there :-)​If you haven't been around my digs before, feel free to look around. On this page you'll find an excerpt of what's to come. And there's a blog page, too, if you want to know more.

Quick story line for Kill the King: When a demon sets up shop in a TV that Fredrik Skold buys, he tries to win an Olympic gold medal in swimming by using her blood. But will he win when there's trouble at every turn? This is how it begins....

DREIA: THE DEMONESS

Women are made of smoke and ashes.

Fire.

It's hard to breathe, but you don't want to stop. Then you do, once it gets in your lungs.

But demon women are made of something else. Perfume and spices and an air you have to breathe. We're made of something you don't have to think about, but it's there.

This moment is different, has nothing to do with the air we breathe or the fire we drink.

Department store.

I float along mirrored surfaces. In the lights high above their heads, hovering, I watch them. The humans. Registers beep as the cattle shuffle their feet through the line. Disgusting animals. But I have been looking so long. And I know he’ll be here, in this superstore.So many fluorescent lights make it feel as if your eyes might bleed. Employees wear black or red aprons over starched white blouses, their name badges black with the name red and in flames.

My kind of place.

TVs on the wall, rows of them blinking across shiny black LCD surfaces. Nothing but large and extra-large black mirrors, enough to fill a room. Magicians have always used black mirrors to summon demons.

Us demons can wander through all these shiny black or mirrored things on our own.

And here I am, invisible behind all that flashing light.

I wander through the TV he’s about to buy on impulse, but I haven’t shown myself to him yet. A demoness stalking, watching. The heat of battle almost crackling from my vaporous fists, waiting for the right time.

There he is, on the other side of the TV. Dark hair, he’s built like a dancer and has a child’s smile. Sneaky. The way all smiles should be. He looks through me as I slither along the LCD, seeing only the images on the television.

"What model are you interested in, sir?" A man with cocoa butter–smooth skin stands beside Freddie, his stance wide and relaxed. Gold ring over one finger. Such a young-looking man. Has to be a college kid. These are the kind that are too burned-out to fight me. Easy.

As he opens his stance and speaks with his hands, voice fast and spitting, I do the nasty: walk into his mouth. I whisper his name, and he doesn't even know what's happening, but he swallows me.

Now I am inside the salesman. I have possessed him.

"What is it that you ... desire?" I ask Freddie. This is one of my powers. The feminine lust drips from me, but I try not to give myself away.

His eyes, so soft and full of doe-eyed innocence, narrow. I hold completely still and wait the way you would for a predator about to take his shot.

He’s all caution.

“You don’t need to know that to sell me a TV.”

“But I do.”

“No.”

Now I look at him, through him. My eyes are in his brain now, pulling things out. But it’s nothing detailed, nothing I can use. His brain oozes thoughts like a sludge of magma. Not quick-firing neurotransmitters but something… else.

“Freddie, how will I know what you need?” I say it like a mother trying to be helpful.

​"Oh, that makes sense,” Freddie says with a bashful smile and nods to himself, now hypnotized. His eyes are glassy as he makes his reply. "Sports. Swimming."

"To watch?" I ask and feel my eyebrows, as the possessed man, raise. "More than anything, you want to watch sports, swimming?" I need to know. I need to have his wish. Without it, all this was pointless. The searching. My plan.

We need to make a deal.

His mouth goes slack; his gaze turns soft. Freddie’s an easy one. He’ll give it all up. "No, no, no. I want to win. Once, I even thought I had a shot at the Olympics—swimming—but my time’s just a little bit off. I don't know if I—Do you know what it's like to have to give up on your dream for fractions of a second?" His eyes well up, and he clenches his fists.

"I've never had any dreams," I answer.

"I don't think I could live without dreams. What is there to hope for?"

“Sure there is,” I say and hold my breath to keep from laughing. “But love isn’t a purpose.” I click my fingers so that no one can hear, and the TV I am trying to sell him flips on to sports. Olympic swimming. It's not the year for it.

"Must be a sign," Freddie whispers to himself. “Odd.”

"Must be. Let me ask you something, Freddie: what is it that you wish?"

"I wish that I could win an Olympic gold medal in swimming. Every category." He smiles wide. Totally under my thrall, hypnotized.

“Then maybe we should make a deal.”

“You don’t look like you could help on the Olympic level, no offense. And I don’t make deals.” Freddie’s eyes are still a little glazed over, but something in him is fighting the trance state. Nobody fights. I decide not to push.

I nod. "Well. What do you think of the TV?"

The spell is broken.

"Yeah. I think it's the one."

We shake hands, and I climb out through the salesman’s mouth. But possession is a skin that doesn’t easily shed. A kindness lingers in me, even as my Shadow must have swallowed the college kid.

Soon enough, I will crawl inside the TV he's about to buy. All I needed was his wish.

Hell-snakes slither around my wispy figure. Invisible to humans. "I've found him, my lovelies,” I whisper. “Now what to do with him?"

The snakes fade with a light poof, as if in answer.

Now that I had his wish, I could come home with him. Public places are fair game for demons and other entities, but not private homes.

A human’s doorway creates a magical barrier, one that looks to the past and looks to the future. Where you’ve been and where you’re going. In a home sealed by kindness and love, no demon can enter. Not without an invitation. It’s a stupid rule, but that’s the way magic works; it doesn’t play fair.

And as I wait, I can't help but watch them. The others.

Humans. They all think they're so special, believing in the false promise of the American Dream. At the end of the work day, they all go home, maybe have a beer, turn on the TV or read, and start over the next morning. I couldn't understand their fear of Hell. They live their lives in chains.

A sting of sympathy, leftovers from the human I had possessed, courses through me.

Freddie isn't like all these other humans. He just doesn't know it yet.

I twirl and spin, nosediving into the TV's cardboard box, a smile stretching across my wisp of a face. Not long now.

Two salespeople help him take the TV out to his truck.

Only one thing makes Freddie special—that I know of—but he chose him over me. Why? Why do you matter so much?Of course, it doesn't really matter.

Now that I carry his wish inside me, no other demon can touch him the way I can.